Chronicles Of A Yankee
by Roma-Nana
Summary: We all know about England, about Arthur Kirkland and his lovely eyebrows, but what about New England? What about Ian L. Jones? Well, You're wicked lucky, because now you can find out just who the hell this kid is. Collection of 1-Shots & Small Stories
1. Chapter 1

**Hello! Yeah, a bit of a Hetalia obsessive fan right now. But, you know how it is. The characters are easy to use in stories, they're funny, there's so many of them, and you can have so many back stories back sense, you know?**

**Before you complain. YES, OC STORY.**

**Well, not exactly a story. A collection of one-shots/short stories. A whole bunch of things. It'll be funny, promise!**

**Anyway, Read and Review! Suggestions for ideas are always welcome.**

**This first Part is mainly an introduction, will probably be kind of short. also, this story has no schedule of releasing chapters. happens when it happens.**

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><p>"Hahaha! Dude, you like, totally just fell on your ass." Alfred spouted. England grunted in annoyance as he managed to hoist himself up off the conference room floor, and whack America upside the head.<p>

"I'd be more angry that you just made fun of me but I'm far more insulted by your butchering of MY language!" He shouted as they exited the room and out into the hallway. The meeting had just ended and since it was being held in America, Arthur usually stuck to his tradition of staying at Alfred's home for a while before taking a flight home. He got bogged down by jet lag very easily so he rather not rush himself.

"But dude, I don't speak British! I speak English!" He said. He got a punch to the arm.

"You speak American, you git. Which is a butchered version of what I speak correctly, English." He folded his arms as the two blonde descended the stairs to the front door of the building.

"Pfft, Right. Whatever you say man." Alfred dismissed everything he had just said, didn't he? He probably had done the same back when he was his colony. Oh the good old days..Back when he was on top of the world and his prized colony was right by his side.

"Hey, Want McDonalds on the way back?"

And now he had to deal with _this._

_Blast it all._

"No, that slop isn't even worth calling food. If you're so hungry I can make food for you when we get to your house."

"E-Ehehe..." Was it just him or did Alfred look paler all of a sudden? "No, That's alright. Let's just go."

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><p>When they finally got to America's house(one that the two of them were all too familiar with), England could feel his stomach grumbling. Perhaps he was hungry after all. He hoped America at least had something decent around.<p>

They got to the front door and stopped when Alfred took out a Nerf gun from his back pocket and kicked the door open. It swung back into the empty threshold of the house and the blonde waited in a stance that seemed to say 'Shhh, I'm being an awesome ninja here'.

"What the bloody he-"

_"AHHHHH_!"

Orange foam darts began flying everywhere, whizzing this way and that. Arthur just stood there wondering what the hell was going on. Before long though, he got his answer when he followed America's retreating form up to the second floor.

"Uff! Damn it! Get off!" Someone shouted. It sounded, strange. It defiantly wasn't Alfred. The accent was just too different, also the tone. Though it wasn't a kid, and it wasn't anyone he could identify. He snuck around the corner and peeked his head into the hallway.

Alfred was sitting on the floor laughing next to a slightly shorter, sandy blonde haired boy. He was dressed in dark jeans, black converse, and a purple T-shirt under an unzipped, slightly baggy gray hoodie. His complexion was fair, but no chiseled features, along with a pair of light green eyes. His hair was a familiar shade of blonde, and looked a bit like his own(though that wasn't really anything special) except he had a cowlick protruding from his hair. All in all, the kid had very familiar features.

"Oh, hey Artie! Come'ere!" Alfred got up and waved him over. He saw the other blonde visibly tense as he heard the atrocious nickname Alfred had given Arthur.

"It's _Arthur_. Please, cut it out with your silly nicknames."

"Sure Sure, whatever Artie. Anyway, this is Ian! He's..mh, well, why don't you say the rest." he stumbled after introducing the boy, Ian, after the first name. It was curious. Maybe he had to hide something? But Alfred was always one to blurt things out anyway. Why make this any different?

Getting a closer more direct view he looked about 17 or 18 years old(in human appearance anyway). maybe this was one of Alfred's older states? Did states even have personifications?

"So,...Arthur." Ian began.

"Yes, Arthur Kirkland, The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland." He heard the boy scoff under his breath at the introduction. He turned to America.

"Why'd you have to bring the Brit here?" he asked. "Now the car is gonna smell of tea isn't it."

The way he said car sounded strange. The _a_ was stressed too much. Where did he hear people talking like that? Somewhere in America, but where again? O-Oh! Arthur internally applauded himself for remembering.

"Ohh! That's right! '_park the car in Harvard yard!' _So you're..Massachusets? Boston?"

_SLAM._

"FUCK OFF. DAMN BRIT. I'M NEW ENGLAND."

"Ian! dude, Chill out!" That was the last thing Arthur heard before he passed out from being kicked in the bollocks.

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><p><em>In the adorably arrogant land of the United states. There are of course, 50 states. However there are also certain groups or regions of states that fall under one name.<em>

_Some like The Four Corner States..._

_"Dude, I'm in 4 states, at once!"_

_...The Great Plains,.._

_"Yaay Grass!- Hey wait. where is everybody?"_

_and of course, New England_

_"I'm wicked awesome, so piss off!"_

_New England is made of six states on the Eastern Coast of the United states( Connecticut, Maine, Massachusetts, New Hampshire Rhode Island, and Vermont)._

_The majority of these states were all existing before the American Revolution. Sadly, England personally can never remember he even existed, even though he caused quite a bit of trouble for him._

_"Hey, Ian! Come on out!"_

_"Alfred, who are you talking to?" _

_"Ian!"_

_"Who?"_

_Though, perhaps it was best England didn't remember._

_"asshole... Not remembering me.."_

_It's okay New England. We still love you._

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><p><strong>This is a character a few friends and I made up(we're New Englanders, yeah..Haha) at school, and I decided to make a small collection of stories and such involving him. I thought it'd be fun. <strong>

**Things won't always be in this format, but once in a while I'll put in little sections like the last section of this first chapter that was in italics. It'll be little quirky info, like how it is in the show!**

**How you enjoyed, and if I get stereotypes wrong about the New England states I'm sorry, I'm only from one of them you know. Also, don't take offence to the stereotyping in this because 1) I'm making fun of the people who think these things 2) it's all in good fun and 3) ITS HETALIA. **

**So, Now that that's over. Review! Please?**


	2. Yankee Simulator: Ice Cream

Yankee Simulator: Simulation 1

Ice Cream

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><p>You finally arrive at your favorite place to go for ice cream. A local place that has quite a dedicated following in the area. It's service windows for buying ice cream for varying kinds of options are outside under a built canopy. Red freshly painted wooden picnic benches are off to the right of the building, and a golf course is in back.<p>

You wander over to find that only one window is open today. You wonder why, but decide to not let your mind wander on about it. You get in line behind a tall blonde man. You wonder if he's from here. He's wearing a tan coat and a scarf. It really isn't that cold, sure, the weather can change about every freakin' hour, but at the moment it wasn't cold, just drizzling, perhaps a bit gloomy.

He catches you staring, and he turned around.

"I can help you, Da?"

Russian. Fuck. You're not exactly used to people from Russia, not many chose to live around here, most likely because it can be as cold as Russia in the winter. When they come to the States they tend to go to warmer Western states.

"No, Just spacing out" you answer. He turns around to face the front of the 5 person long line. The person at the window seems to be taking his time ordering. You take a peek from out behind the Russian to see what's going on.

It's a Finnish man, standing there with a taller, more stoic Swede. They seem to be have a tough time getting the taller man's order out, he keeps mumbling his words. You sigh. You can tell this is going to take a while, they seem like they are ordering for 5 other people.

After standing in line for a while a pair of odd brothers get in line behind you. Both with odd hair curls and slightly tanned skin. Well okay, not exactly tan, but with more color than you. You are generally quite pale, and don't tan very well. You mostly burn and then end up cursing the sun for being so difficult.

"Ve, Ve, Ve..."

What the hell is he babbling on about? Ve? Is that even a word? You try to ignore the annoying and peppy Italian, but you can't seem to block out the sound. However you can sense that his brother is much more annoyed than you are. You turn around to see him, arms folded, twitching, while his brother acts like an air head.

"Is he always...?" you start, but the seemingly older of the two cuts you off.

"Che..Yeah."

"..Right." You turn back to face the Russian's back like you were before. Another minute waiting and the line finally moves, The cute Finnish man(You did have to admit, he was quite adorable. You would say the younger brother behind you is too, but he's also very annoying, so you decide not to think about him.) and the stoic Swede walk off to their group of friends by the benches.

The line finally moves forward again and a lax brunette walks up to the window and seems to order in Spanish. You're not entirely surprised by this, many people in the area tend to speak Spanish. You are also not surprised that the person at the window understood(though at best very roughly), what they wanted and quickly got it for the man. He smiled, paid, and stepped out of line, only to look directly behind you.

"Lovi! Yo no se estas aqui!"

"Oi! Get lost! Tomato bastard!"

"Aww, but Lovii.."

You tuned out the two bickering men and focus on what you were going to get. The Russian in front of you was watching the two bicker with slight amusement. In all honesty, you think he looked freaking creepy, smiling like that.

"Next!"

The Russian man snaps out of his creepy mood and start to order his ice cream.

"Da, I will have..." You tune him out as well. You tend to do that when things bother you. Instead of dealing with annoyances you shut yourself off. It tends to happen often, but sometimes you can't get away from it. This time however, isn't one of those times.

The Russian man leaves with a creepy look over his shoulder directed at you. You shiver and step up to the window, glad it's your turn. You just want your ice cream.

"Hey dude! How can I help you?" The blonde behind the counter seems very energetic. He has an odd cowlick, like yourself. You two seem to have a bit of a mutual understanding as to why it's there, they just won't stay down so you tend to leave them be.

"I'll have a small soft served vanilla with chocolate jimmies, in a cone." You tell him. His brow scrunches in confusion.

"..You want Jimmy on it? ..Huh?" Now you look as confused as he does. "...You don't seem like the kind of dude to swing that way, but alright. HEY JI-"

"No you dumbass!" You cut him off before he made the misunderstanding even worse. Who the hell mistakes jimmy's for a person named Jimmy? No one wants a person on their ice..cream.

Did this blonde dope just make an innuendo? You felt violated. You just wanted your damn ice cream but no, this guy had to go and make it awkward. You sighed.

"I hope you're joking. Can I just have my vanilla with jimmies now?"

"But what are jimmies?" It finally set in for you why he was so confused.

"You're not from here are you?"

"Nope! I'm from D.C.! The good ol' heart of the country. Why?" He states proudly. He's reading the part of the ice cream order he understands, but continues to talk with his back turned to you.

"Then it makes sense as to why you're acting so confused. Jimmies are you know...sprinkles." You grew up calling them jimmies and to be honest, you thought calling them sprinkles was just weird. Yet again, people think you're weird for calling them jimmies. So who was right?

"Ohhh! Sprinkles! Alright, comin' right up dude!" He shouts back to you, you're just hoping he doesn't screw it up. You hear the older Italian brother still threatening the Spaniard behind you.

"I will go mafia on you! Back off!"

"Aww, but Lovi! You're too cute to be in the mafia!"

"I-I'm not cute, you bastard!"

"Ve..fratello.."

You hear an annoying albino man come up to them, though you're still tapping your fingers on the wall waiting for your ice cream.

"Ksesesese! Hey, Feli! Let's go ditch and grope bruder!" Was this guy a pervert? Damn...

"I don't know...ve..." again with the verbal tick. What gives?

"Che palle, GET OFF ME!"

"But you're so lindo, Lovii!"

"Ksesesese!"

"Hahahaha! Here's your ice cream dude!"

"You're so annoyed by these people, you take your ice cream with haste and shove the money at the blonde quickly. You start to make your exit when a French man with blonde shoulder length hair comes up behind you and gropes your behind.

"Hohohon~! You remind me of a grumpy English man I know! Ma ch-"

You don't let him finish as you knee him in the groin.

"Piss off, you pervert!" You walk off licking your ice cream, leaving those in line staring at the French man holding himself on the pavement.


End file.
